


Along This Broken Road

by sakuranomi808



Category: Supernatural
Genre: A/B/O, Alpha!Dean, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Mpreg, Wincest - Freeform, omega!Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:09:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27738187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakuranomi808/pseuds/sakuranomi808
Summary: A few short vignettes to fill in the blanks of Sam's pregnancy and birth.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 17
Kudos: 202





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written mpreg or A/B/O so please bear with me <3 I just really couldn't get rid of the thought that little Dean was Sam and Dean's baby. Spoilers for 15x20, obviously.

Sam has never been much of a drinker, but that night he grabs a bottle of Dean’s favorite whiskey and brings it with him out to the woods behind the bunker. The sun dips low in the sky as embers from the funeral pyre flicker and crackle, dissipating into the chilly night air. By the time the fire burns out, Sam is numb all over and has cried enough tears to last a lifetime. He tries to set the empty bottle down, but misses a few times and finally just lets it slip from his hand to land in the soft grass beneath his feet. 

He ends up in Dean’s bed somehow -- wouldn’t be the first time he found his way there without really meaning to -- and manages to shut off the lamp before falling into a fitful sleep. His dreams are odd and disjointed to say the least: the happiest of moments mixed up with the renewed ache of feeling the life slip from his brother’s body. He wakes drenched in sweat, the bed sheets tangled around his legs and the pillow nowhere to be found. Sam leans over the edge of the bed to look for it when a sudden wave of light-headedness and nausea grips at him. 

It’s a damned good thing for his hunter’s eyesight, because he manages to make it to the bathroom to throw up without turning on any lights. Sam rests his forehead against the cool porcelain of the toilet seat and chokes back a sob, giving in to the urge to wallow in the sheer hopelessness of it all. After a few long moments, he inhales deeply and exhales slowly through pursed lips, then rises to his feet and shuffles back into the bedroom. 

Dean’s room still smells like him, a scent uniquely his -- an intoxicating mix of sweat and soap and aftershave -- and Sam can’t resist drawing in a deep breath and letting his eyes flutter shut for a second, taking comfort in it. It had always been this way with them, ever since they stopped trying to fight nature’s will and Dean claimed him at the tender age of sixteen.

Despite feeling like half of him is gone, like someone’s cut off half of his limbs, Sam slips under the covers again and buries his face in Dean’s pillow, succumbing to an exhausted sleep once again. 

+

It’s day seven of waking up to this same morning ritual before Sam convinces himself to go out and buy a test. If he’s going to be honest with himself, he’s known something was off since that first night, but he’s also quite the expert at rationalization: He probably just drank too much, or he shouldn’t have gone that extra mile on his run the previous day, or he was still grieving. He’d even looked it up; researched it -- grief can indeed manifest itself physiologically. That’s what Doctor Google had said, anyway. 

So he goes about his business day after day, forcing himself to eat, and drink plenty of water and take Miracle out for a jog every afternoon even though butterflies have taken up permanent residence in his stomach. No more tears, though -- that’s not what Dean would’ve wanted, not how Sam intends to honor his memory. 

The test is laying on a paper towel in the bathroom when Sam shuts his bedroom door and gives his reflection in the mirror a good once-over. Before he can talk himself out of it, he pulls his hoodie and t-shirt up and off, tossing them onto the bed behind him. There are bags under his eyes and his skin is a little paler than before but he looks about the same; just feels different -- like his skin is stretched too tight, and his hearing is just a little too keen, and those damned butterflies still won’t give it a rest. 

Sam sucks in a startled gasp when the alarm on his phone starts beeping, and he hurriedly reaches into his pocket to shut it off as he strides across the hall into the bathroom. He can see the dark blue plus-sign from a couple of feet away and has the sudden, absurd thought that if he doesn’t actually touch the pregnancy test, then this won’t be real. Still, his heart is thundering madly behind his ribs as his gaze settles upon the small plastic stick sitting there innocently on the counter.

It shouldn’t have been this way. 

It shouldn’t have been Sam completely and utterly alone, sinking down to sit on the tiled bathroom floor as something halfway between a sob and a laugh escapes his throat. He buries his face in his hands and finally lets himself mourn -- for everything that could have been, and everything that’s still to come. 

It shouldn’t have been this way -- but it is. 

+

The first few weeks are brutal -- one might even call it 'hell', except that Sam has actually been there and done that, and doesn’t much care for the allegory. He’s nauseous all the time, bone tired day and night, and living off of popsicles and toast which he can’t even keep down half the time anyway.

Still, he persists. 

He finds a doctor in the city, a kind woman who specializes in high-risk pregnancies. She doesn’t even bat an eye when Sam blurts out at his first appointment, as soon as she walks into the exam room, that his Alpha is his brother and he’s really, really worried about that. She agrees to see him every two weeks just to be on the safe side, but the truth is that Sam feels anything but safe without Dean by his side. 

He goes back and forth between sleeping in the Impala and in Dean’s bed even though the sheets haven’t been washed in God knows how long. He just can’t bring himself to do it, not when he can still bury his nose in the pillow and close his eyes, forgetting everything else except the way that Dean’s body used to feel, sure and strong against his own, even if only for a few fleeting moments. 

It’s a quiet night about four months in when Sam realizes that he actually feels okay -- his head is clear and his back isn’t aching; his stomach is calm and settled. And that’s when he feels it -- a tiny flutter, a barely-there thunk under his ribs and his hand instinctively drops down to his belly. It doesn’t happen again for a few seconds and he almost convinces himself that he imagined it, but then it does -- real proof of the tiny life growing inside him -- and Sam grins, genuinely smiles, for the first time since he lost his brother. 

“I wish you could be here with us,” Sam murmurs. “I miss you so much.” 

The silence he gets in response is deafening, but still he takes some comfort in the thought that maybe Dean is watching over him somehow, somewhere. It has to be a coincidence, but just then the lights flicker twice and Sam sucks in a startled breath, his brother’s name unconsciously escaping his lips.

That’s when it hits him like a freight train: arousal thrumming hot and hard under his skin, thundering through his veins. Sam instinctively shoves his hand down under the waist of his pants and into his briefs. He groans at the sensation and squeezes tight, thumbing through the slick already pulsing from the swollen tip. It’s been months since he’s even thought about this, but now he can barely resist bucking his hips up into his own clenched fist, chasing after more friction, more sensation -- more, more, more. 

Sam kicks his pants and briefs down and off, settling down on his back for just a second before rolling onto his side. It isn’t the greatest angle, but he reaches back and presses the pads of his fingers against his aching hole, biting back a groan when he realizes how slick and wet he is there, too. He’s not sure what this is -- surely it can’t be another heat -- but he’s not thinking clearly enough to try to figure it out right at the moment. He easily slips two fingers in to spread and scissors them, rubbing against the sensitive nerves around his rim as he continues to jerk himself off. 

It doesn’t take long; just a few steady strokes over his aching length before Sam is coming hard, spilling over his closed fist as he works himself through wave after wave of pleasure. His asshole clenches desperately around his fingers, and it’s the oddest thing -- coming without Dean’s cock swelling and knotting inside him. But still, Sam exhales shakily with relief, feeling closer to his brother than he has in a long while. 

+

The labor is long and difficult, but that Sam can handle -- his tolerance for pain has always been ridiculously high. When the baby finally arrives, he’s as beautiful and perfect as Dr. Emerson said he would be. He has Dean’s lips and Sam’s cheekbones, and his cry is loud and strong, his hands already balled up into defiant little fists as the nursing staff whisks him away to clean and weigh him.

“What’s his name?” one of the nurses asks as she carefully places the baby in Sam’s arms.

“It’s Dean,” Sam replies. “After his Dad.” 

The boy inexplicably grows silent and looks up at Sam, adorable little eyes peeking out from under his knitted blue cap. It’s almost as though he recognizes his own name already, or maybe it’s the sound of Sam’s voice that soothes him. Sam carefully slips one arm out of his hospital gown and tucks baby Dean against his chest, pressing him their warm, bare skin gently together.

“Hey Dean,” Sam murmurs. “Welcome to the world, kiddo. This used to be a pretty messed up place until your Dad saved it. He’d probably tell you that we did that together, but the truth is he did all the hard work.” 

Baby Dean yawns and gradually relaxes, making a tiny snuffling noise as he settles down against Sam’s chest and begins to drift off to sleep. 

“He was so brave. And the kindest, most selfless person. All he wanted -- all he ever wanted -- was for everyone he loved to be happy, to be safe. He would’ve been the most amazing father. I’m pretty new at this myself, but I’ll do my best. We’ll figure it out together, okay? You and me.” 

Sam is exhausted and emotional, but he cannot wait to tell his son -- their son -- all about the man that he’s named after. He’ll spend the rest of his life doing just that.


	2. Always

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timestamp / prequel, flashing back to the night Dean Jr. was conceived. This got way dirtier than I expected, whoops.

It had been months since things returned to normal, although Sam did have to admit that ‘normal’ was really a relative term when it came to their lives. With everything they’d been through, he was almost afraid that this was all some trick, some fucked up illusion that would be ripped out from under him at any moment. 

And so he found himself treading lightly, not allowing himself to get too comfortable, living in a constant state of waiting for the other shoe to drop. But still, day after day went by and he and his brother naturally settled into this state of easy domesticity -- something they’d never had even when they moved into the bunker. There was always something looming over them, some fate to untangle, some disaster to prevent. 

But now there was only this: the two of them, finally together, finally at peace. 

Sam was in his favorite chair in the library reading a book and Dean was watching some trashy reality show on his phone on the other end of the table. Dinner was simmering in the crock pot and Sam had baked a peach pie that was cooling on the counter. It was perfect -- almost too perfect, Sam mused. He cursed himself silently for even having the thought, especially when a few moments later he felt perspiration beading at his temple. 

Trying to be as subtle as possible, Sam reached up and swept his shirt sleeve across his forehead, then pushed his sweat-damp hair back. He licked his lips and turned to the next page of the book in front of him, even though he’d stopped reading a few sentences ago. He glanced up to find Dean already studying him closely. 

“I’m fine,” Sam blurted out, maybe a little too quickly. 

But Dean wasn’t buying it, and knew him far too well to ignore the signs even though it had literally been years since Sam’s last heat. He rose quickly and crossed the room, hauling Sam to his feet, catching Sam under his armpits when the younger brother stumbled a bit, lightheaded. 

Sam groaned as he closed what little space remained between them, crushing his mouth hard against Dean’s -- less of a kiss and more lips and teeth and tongue -- suddenly aching and desperate for more. Dean ungracefully shoved his hand down the back of Sam’s jeans and slid his fingers down the cleft of his ass, growling when he felt the slippery-wet slick already leaking from Sam’s hole. 

“Bedroom - now,” Dean commanded. “Let’s go.” 

Somehow they made it down the hall and into Dean’s room, even though Sam was practically whimpering as he pulled and tugged at his brother’s clothes, struggling with shaky hands to undress him. Once they reached the bed, Dean shoved Sam down onto the mattress and hurriedly undressed himself, then turned his attention to stripping Sam out of his clothes as well. 

Sam felt like he was on fire, heat radiating from every pore, perspiration running down his skin in rivulets. It had been so long that he’d almost forgotten how perplexing these sensations were. Sure, he was aroused; his cock was hard as steel and throbbing with every beat of his heart, but he also felt dizzy, a little sick to his stomach, a bit unsettled and anxious all over. 

He still remembered the first time like it was yesterday -- he was just a teenager then, all awkward lanky limbs and hormones through the roof, his body still trying to sort itself out. Dean had taken care of him back then, too. 

_Always take care’a you, Sammy. Always. Always._

Dean crawled onto the bed, blanketing Sam’s body with his own, immediately dropping his hips down to slot their stiff lengths together. Sam bit back a moan and thrust his hips up, chasing after more of that wonderful friction. It wasn’t enough though -- would never be enough -- and they both knew it. Sam drew his knees up and apart, curling his own fist around his cock, squeezing hard as Dean’s gaze dropped down between them. 

He knew damned well how he looked right now -- leaking pre-come all over his stomach, his breaths ragged, his hole clenching and oozing slick all over his thighs and onto the bed sheets beneath them. And yet, Sam was so eager, so desperate for it that he couldn’t find it in himself to be embarrassed or even modest about what he needed. “Fuck me, Dean. Please,” he begged. “Please hurry.” 

Dean hummed softly in agreement and nudged his swollen cock-head against Sam’s opening, sliding easily passed the rim on the first thrust. “So wet for me,” he whispered, nudging his nose against Sam’s, his soft exhales flowing over Sam’s lips with every filthy-sweet word as he began to roll his hips. “Mine, Sammy. You’re mine. Gonna give you what you need.” 

Sam could only moan and squeeze his eyes shut as Dean shifted a bit, pushing himself up to rest his weight on his hands pressed to the mattress on either side of Sam’s head. The change in angle sent Dean’s cock driving straight down into Sam’s sweet spot on the next thrust, and the younger man cried out sharply in response. Sam drew his knees up further, hooking his hands behind his knees and drawing his thighs up close to his chest.

“Look at you,” Dean murmured, his voice reverent, awed. “Can’t get enough, can you?” 

“I need-” Sam huffed brokenly. “I-” He bit back a groan when Dean curled his fist tight around Sam’s cock and gave it a good, firm stroke all the way from root to tip. He always knew what Sam needed without asking, knew how to make him fall apart and put him back together without a word spoken between them. 

Sam knew his own climax was near; wasn’t really sure how close Dean was until his brother abruptly pulled away, leaving Sam so empty that it ached. Before he could ask the question, Dean gently rolled Sam onto his side and shifted over to lay down behind him, curling his arm protectively around Sam’s torso. He pressed his palm against Sam’s thundering heart and whispered against his ear, “We might be here awhile. Is this okay?” 

Sam bit back a groan and nodded, thrusting his ass needily back against Dean’s cock. Dean chuckled softly and quickly slid back into Sam’s clenched hole again, dropping his hand down Sam’s stomach to curl around his dick. Sam hadn’t been certain at first; after all, Dean had been on suppressants for years and Sam had just assumed he was still taking them, but now as Dean thrust in harder, deeper every time, Sam could feel his brother's knot growing and catching on his rim on every other stroke. 

“I’m gonna come, Dean,” Sam warned, feeling himself rushing uncontrollably toward it. “I can’t-” 

“Stay with me,” Dean growled, mouthing over the nape of his neck. His teeth scraped just a little too hard over Sam’s heated skin, his tongue soothing over the ache a split-second later. 

Sam cried out sharply as his climax tore through him, his come spurting out over and over again over Dean’s fist and his body seized tight around his brother’s spasming length. Dean was coming now too, a filthy string of obscenities falling from his lips as he worked them both through it, pumping his hips in the same quick, steady rhythm as he was working Sam’s cock in his fist. Sam exhaled shakily, his whole body thrumming with pleasure, his asshole stuffed full, Dean’s knot binding them tight together. 

Dean hummed softly deep in his throat as he nudged his nose behind Sam’s ear and inhaled deeply. Sam’s breaths were still ragged, but the sense of relief, of satisfaction coursing through his veins was unmistakable. He dropped one hand down to thread his fingers through Dean’s, both of them chuckling softly at the sticky-wet mess of come that was now on both of their hands.

Sam’s eyes fluttered shut as he felt Dean’s lips pressing the softest, barely-there kisses against the curve of his shoulder. It was incredible how easily Dean could slip in and out of the different roles he played -- strong, confident Alpha pounding him into the mattress one minute, then sweet and gentle big brother the next. 

“So, hashtag that happened,” Dean murmured. He always did this -- made the dumbest jokes when really he was just worried and couldn’t find the right words. 

“Yeah,” Sam chuckled. “I’m good though, Dean. I swear.” He sighed contentedly, safe and secure in Dean’s arms, like always.


End file.
